Abandon
by MaidenofIron157
Summary: My own version of when Holy Rome and others left Austria all alone in the Chibitalia universe. Contains OOCness.


*Is it wrong to think Austria was a teenager in the Chibitalia universe? (thinks over) Anyway, my first Hetalia fanfic on this place. I didn't think I would get this obsessed with it. (is sheepish)*

The sounds were booming, contrasting darkly to the golden sunlight beaming through the window panes before him. The keys were being pounded upon in a frenzy, resembling a crude form of thunder as the fingers flew viciously over them. The young man's eyes were delicately closed to keep out any of reality, and his lips were rapidly mouthing unsung German lyrics that went with the piece.

The small servant boy looked on from the doorway, from in-between the small crack that the ajar door provided, wondering why his master was making such upset music. It grated against his eardrums; he was much more used upbeat and lively tunes, not these. Most everyone enjoyed the time of day when his master would sit down and play the beautiful instrument to his heart's content. It usually kept the entire house on its toes – but there was no one left to keep up. Everyone was gone. It was only him, Italy, his master, Austria, and the older servant girl, Hungary.

Now though…

The music was… unsettling. It was roaring from the room, and sickened his heart; Austria was sad. Depressed, even. Enough to have it fiercely affect his compositions.

And all of a sudden, it stopped. The large home was left in a state of eerie emptiness. The only two servants left inside were standing in attention, waiting, but for what, they were unsure. Hungary still stood in the kitchen, paused in her making of lunch, empathetic of her master's emotional turmoil. Italy, meanwhile, remained perfectly still, unwilling to interrupt in case something occurred.

The teen leaned forward, crossing his arms on the top of the piano's chest and burying his face in the rich blue and gold cloth of his coat's sleeves. His shoulders trembled, racking his body with shakes and tremors. Shallow breaths escaped him, and his chest heaved with every intake of oxygen.

Italy continued to look on, feeling compassionate for the other. He was unknown to the troubles the older nations had to deal with, but he did know of loneliness; how it could eat you away inside until your left nothing but a hollow shell of your old self.

The boy gulped, reluctant to enter. He was afraid that he would be hit, or screamed at – not that he hadn't ever been yelled at before, but still. This was different. He stared down at his shoes, playing with the hem of his outfit to try to distract him. He couldn't bring himself to leave.

Italy looked up, mustering up the courage and stepping inside the room. You could cut the tension with a butter knife – one's whose blade was dull and worn from use. He gulped again, inching forward, not willing to continue, but, apparently, his legs had a mind of their own, and they kept on moving over to the pianist as he sulked. They were practically gliding across the Persian rugs.

He reached Austria soon enough, and stared uneasily up at him, feeling his own quivers starting to rock his tiny body. Italy wrung his wrists together in front of himself, twisting them to try to busy his hands while he thought up something to do or say. Austria didn't take notice he was there; he didn't even recognize his presence.

Italy gulped again. He reached up cautiously, taking a handful of Austria's jacket and tugging feebly on it before snapping the limb back and taking a step back in case Austria decided to be in a vicious mood that day and went just a tad too far.

The brunette took his head out of his arms, combing his chocolate brown locks out of his eyes. That was, really, the only thing he bothered doing to better his appearance. His spectacles were crooked and digging into the bridge of his nose; his cheeks were flushed and tear stained; his clothing was ruffled, much unlike the usual tidiness kept up from his apparent O.C.D. He was much unlike himself. "Hmm?"

Italy took a few more steps back, and let out a little "meep" of fear. "U-umm… I-I was just wondering if, uh… y-you would like to go back to your room, sir?" His voice was uncommonly high.

Austria took a moment, seemingly studying Italy, as if to make sure he was really there, and not just a figment of his imagination. After this, his tensed posture seemed to deflate, and he let out a quiet sigh. "Alright." His voice, however, was strained. He pushed himself up to his feet, silently following the surprised little servant boy out of the dreadfully quiet music room , down the hall, and past a corner out of sight, headed to his quarters.

*No, I'm not continuing, so don't review and say please, 'cause it won't work. I know, I ended it early and stuff, but I didn't feel like typing anymore, and couldn't really think of anything. This kinda takes place after everyone abandoned Austria in the Chibitalia universe, but not like how it was in the manga, so switched it up a bit, because I like Italy, and he and Austria need to be manly friends! Except neither one of them are very manly… whatever.*


End file.
